The Silent Muse
by OnlyALittleMad
Summary: When Flora May, an autistic artist agrees to draw a portrait of a famous candy maker, what happens after is all up to their own creative imaginations.
1. The First Meeting

**The Silent Muse**

Due to the fact that the wonders of Willy Wonka's Chocolate Factory were confined to the inside, people who lived in the small town surrounding it didn't have much to look at but a very large grey building. Sure, people pondered it, often standing for hours at the large gates trying to find out what was inside, but after awhile people started to lose interest and turned back to their own lives at work and home.

All this was about to change however. Two years previously, construction was announced on a huge art galley that would not only bring new attention to the town, but also bring in what were the biggest artists in the world to show off their pieces. Well, two years had gone and past and what was left over was a magnificent building made of glass that stood on the opposite end of town, directly facing the Chocolate Factory, the other claim to fame.

The gallery itself, besides being made of glass, had special lights embedded into the building's nine floors that would shine onto the ceiling and bounce off the glass, setting the place glowing with the colours of the rainbow at night. In this way, it stood out in stark contrast to the factory, which was what the builder of the structure had wanted.

All kinds of people had come from around the world to the gallery's red carpet opening. Besides rich people, celebrities and art connoisseurs, there were of course, the artists themselves. Most were adults in their forties and early fifties. However, exceptions were also among the group. One was a boy of fourteen, who after being confined to a wheelchair, made art by putting paint on the wheels and running them along a huge canvas. He called it "Track Art", and this was become increasing popular.

Another artist was in her early twenties and made abstract art. Her work was indescribable. This wasn't because it was amazing, even though it was. It was rather hard to describe because people could not understand what the inspiration was. Her sculptures were twisted in places no person thought you could twist and their were lacy ribbons in places where most people would never place lace.

Most important of all these artists was Flora May's work. She was in her twenties as well and approaching her thirties, and was probably the most well known of all the artists in the room. It wasn't because of her amazing abstract art that attracted people to this woman, though people loved it, but rather something very interesting about Flora as a person.

Flora May was autistic. Her condition was high functioning enough for her to understand emotion and fee empathy, but what she had in areas other autistics had, she shared one thing with most autistics that was proving to be very difficult for most people in the gallery to deal with. That, despite their efforts to talk about her amazing work, Flora May would only give feeble nervous replies that she had written on cue cards.

Keeping to herself for mostly the entire night, Flora only walked around the gallery with her sketch book, stopping at one painting and then another, doodling at every time. Sometimes observers to the painting Flora was drawing out on a piece of paper, craned their necks to see, but every time she caught their gazes, slamming her book closed and moving on to a painting far from the observers. This carried on until late in the night, ad soon most people were gone, and only the sounds of a few curious people remained. At this time Flora had made several drawings and was packing up to leave when she caught sight of a young boy observing one of her most famous paintings, his head tilted slightly to one side. He sprung to life when he saw her.

"Are you Flora May?" he asked.

Flora rocked on the heels of her silver flats and nodded slowly, and then hesitantly she asked,

"Do you like it?"

"Very much Miss May. Or is it Mrs.?"

"No. I'm horrible with men. They can't fully appreciate who I am."

"Because you're autistic?" the boy asked.

"Because I'm an artist."

The boy smiled and took another glance at the painting before turning back to her.

"Charlie Bucket. I'm here with my mentor."

He craned his neck past her. Obviously, he had walked off in another direction and the boy was searching for him.

"He would love to meet you. He's brought a couple of your paintings already."

"I'll be sure to send him a thank you note then. Goodnight Charlie."

Flora began to walk in the opposite direction toward her home, where she would be able to sit back in her favourite armchair and watch episodes of Spongebob.

"Wait!" Charlie called after her, but Flora quickened her step and headed downstairs. Due to her eyes being downcast and her hurried step, she couldn't' stop fast enough to avoid crashing into a tall figure. Now sitting prone on the floor, she looked up to see who the person was.

It was enough to send her imagination spinning. This person, though she didn't know who it was, was so unique in his attire that she couldn't help but stare in awe. He was wearing a dark purple coat with a matching coloured top hat, and although it was indoors, he was wearing a pair of dark black sunglasses. That wasn't the most amazing of all. What Flora found to be the most interesting was his cane, which was made of glass, filled to the brim with hundreds of small multicoloured things inside, all topped off with a round black and white striped ball.

"Who are you?" he asked, and his tone sounded rather rude to her ears.

"Flora May sir." said Flora as she got to her feet. The man had his back now turned from her, but he quickly spun around when he heard her speak.

He looked at her up and down, from her short orange hair, to her white top with the picture of a daisy on it, to her dark washed jeans and silver flats. In her outfit, she must have looked like a fairly young girl.

"Miss May? I…oh! You found him." came a voice. When Flora turned around, she saw it was Charlie, who was pink faced and panting from running.

"Can I draw you?" Flora asked Willy, and then quickly covering her mouth, realizing what she just said.

Willy reached out and moved her hand from her mouth. The contact seemed to shock the both of them and they both moved away.

"Really?" Willy asked. Flora couldn't tell if he was happy or not with his sunglasses on.

"I just…forget it! I can't retain eye contact with people and your busy."

Flora started to walk away but Willy caught her by the arm.

"I'll teach you."

"Even if I wanted to I can't. Also, your two inches away from my face sir."

Willy moved away quickly moved away and Charlie laughed.

"Don't worry about Mr. Wonka, Miss May. He's just a fan."

"Right. I should be getting home then."

Flora ran home at that point. She couldn't believe she had held a conversation for so long. It must have been a record. With that, she settled into an armchair and proceeded to watch her cartoon.

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**I refuse to leave this story in the dust like the rest. I'm sticking to this until further notice.**


	2. Flora and Clara

_Julia didn't utter a sound as she walked hand in hand with the wind. She was his silent companion, while he, even with having the capability to be just as quiet, struck a contrast between his friend with his low whistling sound. Julia did not know why a person who was the polar opposite of herself would be so comforting to have with her. All she knew was that she couldn't be herself without him._

"Miss May? Can you hear me?"

Flora lay sprawled on her parent's pink living room carpet, staring up at their huge chandelier that hung just above the very centre of the room. Despite her distraction with all the individual crystals, she was listening to her current companion.

"What I don't understand Clara, is that how on earth can someone be in love with something that is not real? Julia seems to have the notion that this wind is a person."

"Miss May, may I consider your teddy bear?"

"Yes. Why?"

"Well," Clara began, closing the manuscript for her yet to be published novel, "your teddy bear is just as real as the wind in my story. Yet you love it."

Flora, at that point sat up.

"But is that the same love they describe in romance novels or is it just a mild affection? Could our love for teddy bears and blankets when we were young just be a preparation for when we do fall in love with a human being?"

"That's a question for a philosopher Miss May."

"Please call me Flora."

"Miss May, by your mother and father's discretion…"

"But they are away on business in New York. Couldn't you address me as Flora for the time being?"

"Very well then Miss Flora. I will go make tea then shall I?"

Flora sighed and lay back down on the carpet, as Clara retreated to the kitchen. Clara had been the housekeeper ever since Flora bought the huge mansion in Europe for her parents. The house was in a small town close to the new art gallery and was shielded from prying eyes by a large iron gate, embellished with the family's last name of Doric. Flora had adopted the last name May, after her mother insisted that it went well with her first name, and would look better as a signature on her paintings.

As the smell of herbal tea came wafting into the room, Flora finally decided to come out of her daze and into the kitchen to keep her friend company. Unless the cook was on holiday, which he was for about two more weeks, it was just her and Clara in the house. It was to her that Flora told most of her secrets to. Clara was the only one who could understand what she went through all her life. Flora remembered when she had logged all of her physical features into a painting. Straight brown hair, thin silver frame glasses and bright green eyes all on a canvas of white skin. If only Clara wasn't a housekeeper, she could have been a model. After all, Clara was European and don't all Europeans become models?

Clara placed a pink cup of herbal tea on the white marble table. It smelled of fresh strawberries.

"So, have you found any inspiration for your paintings?"

Flora took a sip of her tea and then gave her response.

"Yes I have. It's kind of an embarrassing story actually. So you know how I was at the art gallery last night?"

"Oh yes. I was hoping you would tell me about it last night but you came home so late and well, it was a long day. I needed to sleep."

"No. I understand. My mom works you overtime with buying stuff during the day so you need some rest."

"You know Miss Flora, when I first found out you had autism I thought you would be low on the spectrum and not be able to understand others feelings."

"I may be high functioning, but I still have my social issues Clara."

"Yes I know, but with your autism, at least you can live independently and feel empathy. You may end up in a relationship and have children of your own. Anyway, tell me about the art gallery."

Flora shook her head for a moment. Her distraction from the preceding topic of conversation made her forget entirely what they were talking about in the first place.

"Miss Flora, the art gallery? What happened?"

"Oh yes. Well, I was using my cue cards as you told me to. I just was rambling on about how the sky is orange and strawberries are blue. They eventually walked away from me."

"Why don't you just talk about your art to them?"

"They will just steal my ideas. At least, some might. I can't be taking chances. So anyway, it was late and I was packing up to leave when I saw a young boy. He seemed curious and he liked my paintings."

"Well that's wonderful."

"Well this wasn't just a boy. It was Charlie Bucket. You know the heir to the Chocolate Factory on the other side of the town? He was with Willy Wonka and it turned out that he bought a couple of my paintings. I got scared so I walked away."

"Why were you scared?" Clara asked, now leaning over the counter with genuine curiosity.

"Well, it's Willy Wonka. I thought he would be all chatty and you know what I'm like in conversation."

"But he bought your paintings. You could talk about your art to him of all people."

"I would get nervous. Actually though, he was quite well dressed. There was something so whimsical about his clothes. I just couldn't resist. It spilled out."

Flora then quickly returned to her pink cup, now noisily drinking her tea.

"What did?"

Flora shook her head and continued to drink her tea.

"Miss Flora?"

The cup was almost empty now.

"Please Miss?"

Flora emptied her cup and put the cup down. She nervously moved her fingers.

"Ok, I'll tell you. Iaskedtodrawhim."

She quickly covered her mouth.

"I'm sorry you asked what?"

"Why wasked do wa wim."

"Pardon? Uncover your mouth."

"I ASKED TO DRAW HIM!"

Flora eyes were wide liked Clara's, but that came from shock rather than fear.

"Really?"

"Well, yes and no. I told him I couldn't because I can't retain eye contact. Really, I was just so in awe of his clothes. I had an extreme urge to tear them off."

Clara snorted.

"Did I say something funny?"

"Oh no, it's just…but hasn't your mother told you about the birds and the bees?"

"The birds and the bees?"

"The eel in the cave?"

"The what?"

"Never mind. So did he accept?"

"Does it matter? I said no."

"Miss Flora, did he accept?"

"Yes."

"Well, then do it!"

"And where will I find him?"

"Simple. Go back to the gallery. Maybe he will be there."

Flora leaned her elbow on the counter and considered her options.

**Bit dialogue heavy for this chapter but this part of the story called for it. I may in the future be bringing this story to the mature section, but I hope that doesn't get you people too excited. In other news, thanks you to all who have reviewed. Those were probably the longest reviews I have got since I Am Who I Am. Keep them coming everyone. **

**P.S. **

**I have high functioning autism like Flora, so I hope this story brings out what I go through. That bringing said, Flora is in no way based on myself. Except of course with the exception of the creative streak. **


	3. The Piano Player and The Rose

**Prepare for a long chapter everyone. Even though the last chapter made up about 1,500 words, it was comprised of mostly dialogue. Anyway, on to chapter three then.**

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When the art gallery was built, the curator thought it would be nice if there was a basement built under it. This basement would function as a miniature studio for artists. They could store their art so it could later be framed and placed in the gallery or they could bring some of their own materials and paint in a nice quiet room. In addition, a storage room with extra art supplies would be available for all artists who might need something.

It was early the next morning when Flora entered the basement. She had talked with the curator beforehand to obtain a key to the gallery's back door. A baby blue coloured carpet covered the long set of steps down into the basement where the main studio was located. Since it was too early for the workers to come in, the lights were turned off, and Flora fumbled in the dark for the switch. When she finally found it, she flipped it and the hallway lights came on, revealing the long row of doors, each labelled according to what was inside. She chose the first door, which was said: **Studio One**

It was any aspiring artist's dream. The room was painted a plain white, with wooden shelves that had different art supplies. It looked that for every supply, there was a shelf. A shelf for brushes lay on the left side of the room, and another with hundreds of types of paint was on the right. In the middle of the room, there were twelve blank canvases that had a wooden stool placed in front of them, done up in rows of three.

Since the arrival of the one Flora sought could come and go at any time, Flora thought she would stay in the gallery during the day, and before the gallery opened, work a bit on her paintings. She was in the middle of picking out a good brush when she heard the sound of a key being inserted in the lock.

"Oh. I'm sorry; the curator said no one would be here. He said I could leave my sheet music here while I went for coffee."

"Sheet music?"

Flora observed the person in front of her. He was a young man, probably her age with rather shaggy black hair that flopped in front of his blue eyes. He was wearing a long black coat that was buttoned to the top along with blue jeans and a pair of white sneakers, perhaps brand new, given the fact that there didn't seem to be any dirt visible on them. The man reminded her of the lead singer from Panic at the Disco. Except, the lead singer wouldn't have the keys for the gallery right?

"Yeah, I'm the new piano player. The curator said it would make it more exciting if the gallery incorporated music to hold people's interest."

"What do you mean? Don't people go to an art gallery to observe art?" Flora asked, as the man gathered a few sheets of wrinkled paper in the back of the room.

"Yes. But it's a big gallery and people are more likely to stay longer if there is some lively entertainment."

"I'm sorry. Don't get me wrong, but piano as lively entertainment?" Flora asked.

"Hey! That's insulting. I happen to be a master of the keys. My parents say so." The man said proudly.

"But it's your parents. They have to say your good."

"My parents are piano players themselves. They are my toughest critics."

"And you would be?"

"Marcus Pringles. Yes like the potato chip, and no it is not funny."

Flora held back a giggle.

"And what would your name be then?"

"Flora May. Like the Mayflower, and yes, it is pretty."

"Wow. I don't know whether to bow, faint or throw up." Marcus said sarcastically.

"Hey! You're insulting. I happen to be a well known autistic artist."

"Well, aren't we high on our horse? If you excuse me, I need to entertain the paparazzi." Marcus said, turned on his heel and beginning to walk away.

It took a few moments after Marcus left for Flora to realize what he just said about paparazzi. Why on earth would they be here early in the morning unless there was someone famous coming along? Most celebrities came just for the opening and then went back home. It must have been someone else. Someone like…

Jumping off the stool she was sitting on, Flora wrenched open the door and ran up the steps up to the main floor. The place was quiet except for Marcus who was playing at a huge grand piano, and the faint sound of clicking noises.

Upon inspection from the glass, Flora noted a small group of photographers, who were pressed up against the outside of the building taking pictures of Marcus.

"Are you famous?" Flora asked Marcus.

"No, I just play the piano. But apparently I'm the entertainment until the chocolate man gets here."

"Wait what?"

"You know, for an _autistic _woman, you sure have a lot to say."

"I'm high on the spectrum that's all. I've been working on holding conversation with strangers for awhile now."

"I just hope your not using that as a gimmick in order for people to pay more attention to your work."

"You are a very rude person. I'm walking away now."

"Have a nice day sunshine." Marcus called from behind as Flora walked away.

* * *

Now that it was established that Wonka was coming to the gallery, Flora could just rely on the shouting outside to see when his presence would be made clear. In that case, she decided it would be best to just go downstairs, but as she started her descent back to the studio, she heard a disturbance.

"It's just right down here sir. Just upstairs. If you need me, I'll be in my office just down here."

It must have been the curator. Flora heard the sound of footsteps going in the opposite direction and another set of feet, seeming to come toward the stairs. She hesitated where she stood, but ended up reaching the top step when she heard a voice.

"Flora."

She spun on the spot to see…

"Mr. Wonka."

She ran up the stairs to her.

"I've been looking for you. I was hoping I would find you here."

"You were looking for me?" Flora asked.

"Yeah. I spent all night yesterday making something for you."

He pulled out from his pocket a rose made of a mixture of white chocolate and milk chocolate.

"For my muse." he said when she took the flower.

Flora's hand froze, just as she was about to take the gift.

"You're what?"

"You don't want it?" he asked.

Flora took the rose in response.

"No I mean being my muse."

"I just want to draw you." Flora said.

Willy watched her for a moment, his head titled sideways. Flora was tightly gripping the handrail.

"Right. Fine. Yeah, you can draw me and we can be completely professional about this whole thing."

Willy looked quite crestfallen. He had not worn his sunglasses today, so she could see a bit of emotion in his eyes.

"Uh, look, I was looking for you so I could just ask about drawing you. But maybe I shouldn't. This is just…awkward."

Flora put her hand on the doorknob.

"Will I see you again?" he asked.

"Um…no. No, I don't think so."

"Wait!"

He caught her by the arm and pulled her close to him. Then, quite tenderly, he kissed her quite lightly on the mouth.

Flora simply stood there, swaying on the spot.

"I should go." he said, and releasing her, walked down the steps, and down the hallway.

* * *

Flora stood there silently, holding the chocolate rose in her hand. It was amazing how the heat from her fingers wasn't melting the flower at all. She couldn't understand what just happened but at that moment, she dashed for the hallway.

"YOU COME BACK HERE AND LET ME DRAW YOU!" she shouted.

The shouting seemed to have come from a whole other person. It couldn't have come from an autistic person, who had trouble communicating. In that moment, she felt as if her autism didn't matter. As if someone, a more confidant Flora May was coming out of her.

Willy spun on his heel.

"Come to the factory gates at five. And don't be late. And don't worry, I can be completely professional."

"What do you mean by that?"

"It means…I won't be that close to you. Ever."

"Then why did you do it in the first place?"

"Because you were leaving me."

He shrugged and started to walk the other way.

"Remember, don't be late."

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**Ok, so it wasn't that much longer, but still. Hope you enjoyed it.**


	4. Lessons in Love?

**Let me know what you think of this chapter. Since it's been a little while since I last updated, I'm submitting two chapters, so if you don't like this part you can just go straight to what happens next. Lots of dialogue this time around.**

When Flora returned upstairs to the main gallery, she saw the main lights had been turned on and the clock reached eight thirty. Another hour and people would start coming in. Marcus was at the piano playing a cheerful tune to a crowd of rather excited looking photographers outside. They must have got bored of waiting for a celebrity, so they were practising on piano players.

"You're rather pink in the face. What did he do?" Marcus asked, all the while keeping his head bent toward the keys.

"None of your business."

"Actually it is my business. Because about twenty minutes before you got here, the curator explained that William was coming here to find you. Don't you find that a bit odd? What if you're being used like a pawn and he's only temporarily obsessed with you?"

"He's not obsessed with me!" Flora said.

"Actually he is. I apologise beforehand, but I was listening at the door and apparently you are his muse. Now, I'm not a bad guy, so I'll not relay any of this to the press."

Marcus then turned back to the keys. As Flora approached the piano with the intent of screaming at him, he stopped playing and turned to face her on his stool. With him sitting and looking up at her, her frame towered over his.

"What exactly is your arrangement with this man?" he asked.

It was an honest question. She couldn't very well scream at him for that, although she could if she wanted to and she did want to. Perhaps Marcus would not pester her if she answered the question.

"I'm drawing him."

"And afterwards?"

"There's no "and afterwards". I'm just drawing him and leaving."

"Huh. Well…I suppose you could do that or…Option two."

"And that would be?"

The flashbulbs were blinding her at this point and she turned her back on Marcus to get away from them. Marcus quickly noticing this got up and grabbed Flora's hand, pulling her behind a wall of art away from the windows. There came some shouts of outrage but the two ignored this.

"So what is this Option two exactly?" Flora asked.

"Well I was considering your communication skills."

"What about them?"

"Tell me something, do you plan on falling in love with anyone in the future?"

"Maybe."

"Let's just say you take advantage of the fact that there is an eligible bachelor who's obsessed with you and take that to the next step."

"Marcus I'm drawing his picture. That's all it is. He told me he won't get close after that kiss he gave me and…"

Flora covered her mouth, shocked at what she just admitted. Marcus looked as though he had just won the lottery. He took both of her hands in his.

"Marcus!"

"Don't you get it? As an autistic person, how long is it going to take you to develop your speaking skills to the point where you can look people in the eye? And by people I mean men. How many times will you get a man like this to fall in love with you?"

"You're crazy. I have plenty of opportunity with men."

"Come on Flo! Even if five hundred people come banging at your door, how are you possibly going to know how to act around them? You won't. I don't want to insult you but you don't know how to love someone who is not of family."

Flora yanked her hands away from Marcus and turned around. He came up behind her, his mouth close to her ear.

"But I can teach you."

Flora was reminded of the time when she first met Wonka and how he was planning on teaching her how to look people in the eye.

"When are you beginning your work?" he asked.

"Five."

"Good. I will come with you as your assistant and in exchange for you agreeing with me, I will not relay to the press any of those previous interactions you told me about."

"Marcus, I…can't."

There was a moment where Marcus just stared at her. All the noise to be heard came from the sound of their own breathing, both of them almost in synch with each other.

"By the way that is called tension. Maybe you are experienced."

"Thank you Marcus for your…offer but no."

She turned to walk away but he grabbed Flora and pulled her close.

"I need to show you something. If you won't let me help you let me teach you one important thing."

"W...What's that?"

"Just one thing that may be valuable to you in the future."

"What?"

"I have to see how good of a kisser you are."

"Marcus!"

"Fine. But it could have been useful."

Flora pulled away from Marcus and began to walk away, when he once again pulled her back and kissed her.

**I realize that there is a chance you will be angry with this ending but as I said, you can go to the next chapter where things will cool off a bit.**


	5. Like Actors on a Stage

**This part only goes on for a bit, so don't get angry.**

With kissing, Flora was completely clueless. She meant to pull away from Marcus, but it was he who broke the connection first.

"That was a completely professional kiss. I'm trying to teach you."

"I don't know anything about this."

"Look, just don't panic alright? Now let's try this again. This time try to relax. You can't learn this from books. Close your eyes."

She closed them, feeling nervous but knowing this was just being professional. Marcus closed the gap between them. Two seconds later, he broke away again.

"How to explain this. Ok, think of how a fish breathes by opening and closing its mouth. Try that."

"I'm supposed to kiss you back?" Flora said in shock.

"Just pretend this is a film and we're actors. Nothing about this is real when you're off the set."

"Right. We're acting."

"Exactly. Close your eyes. And…just go with anything that happens."

"Like what?"

"We're acting remember?"

"Right."

She closed her eyes and felt his lips again. Trying to remember what he told her, she slowly opened her mouth a fraction. She flinched slightly when he responded to her action. He was very gentle at first and she got used to the feel of his mouth. Reminding herself that she was acting, she opened it just a little more and pulled away only after she felt his tongue licking her bottom lip.

"What was that?"

"Sorry." he said.

The clock now read nine and she heard people come in, including, from the sound of snapping cameras, the paparazzi.

"I better go."

One of the photographers saw her and tried to go ask her a question, but Flora fled into the gallery basement. It was in the studio that she saw Willy Wonka with the curator.

"I particularly like this piece. Very vibrant. Oh Miss May. What brings you here?"

The curator was a woman in her mid forties, with a cream coloured dress and white flats on. On her pale face was a pair of square black frame glasses, half hidden by her brown bob hair cut.

"No reason."

"What happened to the flower I gave you?" Willy asked, drawing his attention away from a piece of art.

"I, quite honestly ate it on the way upstairs."

It was true. On the way back upstairs Flora had a nibble of a flower petal, not knowing how delicious it would be. Before even realizing it, she had devoured the lot of it by the time she was upstairs again.

"You're eating flowers?" the curator asked, raising her eyebrows.

"It was chocolate." Flora and Willy said in unison. Briefly Willy looked at her and smiled.

"You gave her a chocolate flower?" said the curator.

"Yes."

"That's so romantic. I didn't know you two were together."

"Just recently." Willy told her.

Flora opened her mouth in shock.

"That's lovely. Well I have to head upstairs. The gallery just opened."

She left, leaving Flora with her mouth still open.

"We're not together! You told me that you were going to be professional."

"We kissed. That is never professional. Oh by the way, just remember five."

At that point he left. Flora stood there, still in shock over what happened. Five seconds later, she realized that maybe Marcus wasn't being professional at all when he licked her lip.

Soon after, Flora left the art gallery and headed back to her parent's house. Clara must have gone out for a bit, so she occupied her time by watching Spongebob DVD's. After a couple of episodes however, she turned the television off and began to face the room. She did this until Clara came back.

"Miss Flora. How did it go?"

"I start at five today."

"Well that's fantastic. So you did meet him again."

"Yeah. Well if you excuse me, I need to think."

Flora then fled upstairs to her room.

**This one was a bit shorter.**


	6. Feels Like Oz

If the morning was any indication of what the rest of the day would turn out like then Flora expected that some interesting things would be happening come five o clock. She would not yield to Clara's constant question asking when she finally came out from her room a few hours later. That time was for quiet reflection into the events that had transpired, none of which was she ready to relay to her good friend just yet.

The hours of two to four were spent on collecting all her art supplies. Depending on how the picture was going to look like, Flora decided to take a number of items that might prove useful. The best pieces of art she found, were made when she were experimenting, and so she took more than brushes to be used as paint tools. In her art kit were sponges, towels and shower gels from the bathroom. When she was five, she nearly took out all the canned food in the pantry to make a piece of art. At her age, it was a mess and not what most people would call real art, but in time as she got older, she had learned how to make art out of food while at the same time not emptying the fridge. Still, as a precaution, her food sculptures and paintings were saved for days when her parents were out and would therefore not reprimand her for any small amounts of food she had wasted.

"I don't understand why you can't just tell me what happened this morning. You were in your room for hours." Clara said, as she watched Flora pack.

Clara's arms were occupied with a pile of laundry so large that Flora had to crane her neck to see her eyes peeping up from the top.

"Can't you just take the clothes in smaller bundles?" Flora asked, ignoring the question.

"What are you talking about? I'm…"

Clara never got to finish her sentence, for at that point, half the laundry fell from her arms and onto the floor.

"Told you."

"Look here Miss Flora, on the way to the factory you are going to tell me what happened this morning."

"I told you already Clara, its private information."

"Fine, but you will tell me eventually right?"

"Yes. Eventually."

"You test my patience." Clara said, as she stooped to pick up the fallen garments.

Clara was entrusted to drive the car, as her parents thought it unfitting for an autistic person to be behind the wheel. It was something about distractions as Flora remembered, but it was no matter. She never entertained the idea of driving at this point in time. Clara herself drove an old, beaten up car of a navy blue colour. It was a compact little thing but it wasn't as though Flora had luggage to put in there. During the trip, Flora occupied herself by making notes in her sketchbook about the things she saw on the road. In truth this was just a way to occupy her time so much that Clara wouldn't think about distracting her by bringing up questions again.

"It looks very…threatening from the outside. Do you want me to come with you?" Clara asked when she had stopped the car in front of the gates.

"Shh. Someone's coming."

"Where?"

"In front of the gates."

As the person approached the gates, the two girls saw it was Charlie, looking rather stylish in a long emerald coat and plum coloured glasses.

"You're here early." he said when Flora got out of the car, Clara coming up behind.

"It's two minutes to five." Clara said, looking at her watch.

"Trust me. That's like a day in Mr. Wonka's world."

"Well I suppose you will be alright then Miss Flora. I'll come back at around eight to pick you up."

"Oh that won't be necessary. We could take her back in the elevator."

"The what?"

"Uh, this is my friend Clara." Flora said, confused at Charlie's statement at the same time.

"Nice to meet you." he said, shaking her hand.

He unlocked the gate and it swung open, revealing the oddly empty courtyard that lead to the front door.

"I suppose I will be seeing you tonight then?" Clara asked, rather nervously as Flora passed through the gates.

"Of course. Why do you look so nervous?"

"No reason."

Clara looked up at the ominous looking building and then reluctantly headed back to the car.

The gates swung closed and Flora watched as her friend pulled out of the driveway. She stood there for awhile until she realized that Charlie was halfway to the front door.

"Coming?" he called back to her.

"Coming." Flora said, now tightly gripped the handle of her art kit and making it toward the steps.

Charlie stopped when they reached the front porch.

"We have an assistant now. Her name is Elicia Daniels."

"Will I be meeting her?"

"Yes. Actually, she's been here for a few months now so she knows the factory forwards and backwards. It's impressive considering how large the factory is."

Charlie pressed a blue button to the right of the door. A loud ringing noise seemed to come from inside. A brief moment passed and the door swung open to admit them.

Flora felt a gush of extreme heat on her body when she entered the long silver coloured hallway. A red carpet ran down the middle leading up to a door that not even a three foot tall person could squeeze through. Before she could have time to ask why the heater was cranked up so high, she heard a loud hiccup sound and a flurry of multicoloured bubbles coming toward the from the opposite end of the hallway. There were so many bubbles crowding the hall that Flora could barely make out the shape of a person.

"Elicia? Is that you?" Charlie asked, his voice echoing across the hallway.

The question was only met with another hiccup and more bubbles.

"Mr. Wonka gave you those anti hiccup pills didn't he?" he asked.

"Yes, and the bubblegum candy as well. They don't –hic-, mix well together."

"Is she going to be alright?" Flora asked, as she now fought to see past the bubbles.

"-Hic-, I'll never be able to see Mr. Wonka's paper work through all these." the voice said. It sounded high pitched and girly so it must have been Elicia.

"Have you asked Mr. Wonka for the antidote?" Charlie asked.

"I can't find him!" Elicia cried out desperately. "Charlie, please help me!"

Beside her, Flora could just make out Charlie's small frame.

"Ok, I have Flora with me. We can both help you. Just walk slowly forward and keep your hand outstretched. Flora, hold your hand so that she can grab it."

Flora obeyed, feeling like this was the oddest, yet strangely funniest thing she had done before. She heard the sound of more hiccups, the tapping of feet against the carpet and the sight of more bubbles clouding her vision. The steps got closer and closer, until she suddenly felt soft leather on her bare hand.

"Who's there?" Elicia called.

"Flora May. I'm here to draw a portrait."

She could barely see Elicia through the bubbles.

"Nice to –hic-, meet you."

Charlie was madly waving his hands to pop the bubbles.

"Have you tried holding your breath? It always helps me." Flora said.

"I'll try, but I don't think these are normal hiccups."

Nonetheless, Flora heard Elicia take in a huge breath. She held it for a few moments and then let it out, gasping.

"Hey. It worked."

"We still need to find Mr. Wonka though. That may not last long. Follow me." Charlie said.

As the bubbles started to disperse from the hall, the three headed down the corridor. By the time they reached the end, Flora could now make out Elicia.

She was a slender girl, wearing a long hot pink coat and rose coloured sun glasses. It certainly fit the thread that Charlie seemed to have started. On the other hand, it could have been Wonka's idea and it would be a matter of time until she was asked to wear a similar ensemble. No matter how her upper attire looked like, just past where her coat ended, she wore a pair of white jeans and silver ballet flats. Perhaps it was to off set the crazy glasses that she had her dark brown hair in a ponytail.

"How are we going to squeeze through that door?"

"We don't. We get in through the big door." Elicia explained, like she was talking about the weather.

Flora was confused, but then, as Charlie stooped to unlock the small door, she started to wonder if there was a trick being played on her. Then, as she watched, a much bigger door, that was cleverly hidden in the wall opened up.

It was like The Wizard of Oz, where Dorothy stepped out of the black and white house and into Oz itself. The room was a blaze of bright colours that own their own should have contrasted with each other, but arranged in the way that went well. A large waterfall pouring out what she assumed was brown water and a little house that sat in the middle.

"All it needs is a pair of ruby slippers and little people." Flora joked, despite her being mesmerized.

"We haven't got the shoes yet." Charlie said.

"You mean you have little people?" Flora asked, stunned.

"You have only been in this world for a few moments. After some time here, **nothing** will surprise you." Elicia said.

**That last line there is a slightly altered line said by Mr. Wonka in Charlie and the Great Glass Elevator. Little bit of trivia there. **


End file.
